White Collar: The Inner Man's Outwear
by Ruahnna
Summary: The outer clothes may make the man, but the inner man is what really matters.


**Title:** The Inner Man's Outerwear

**Rating: **G

**Genre/Relationship: **Schmoop, Neal, Peter

**Spoilers:** None

**Word Count:** 624

**Summary:** For the prompt: _a shiny new pair of shoes_ in **run_the_con** lightning round The outer clothes may make the man, but the inner man is what really matters. The Inner Man's Outerwear (as opposed to his _under_wear….)

_Only Neal Caffrey could fall in a pile of…excrement and come out smelling like a rose,_ Peter thought darkly. His new C.I. had sauntered into the office in a vintage suit wearing a hat that cost more than Peter's briefcase, but he had, at least, bombed out trying to make time with Diana. _That_ had been fun. Peter let the memory of it sustain him and restore his previous mood. He watched Neal as he acclimated to the new desk, flashing his smile more than was necessary, eyes wide with excitement. _He's like a kid_, Peter observed. _A big kid in a candy—no, not a candy store. A kid playing office behind his father's desk_. Still, he was a brain, a pair of hands—and Peter could use all the help he could get. The Dutchman case had blown up in their faces—literally—and the brass were really turning on the screws.

Had he been foolish to take Neal on in all of this? To waste valuable time and resources riding herd on a convicted felon when he could be/_should_ be trying to map out the Dutchman's next move? He shook his head and stepped to the rail, giving his team the 2-finger summons they all recognized. Obediently, they gathered notepads, half-drunk coffee cups and papers and started toward the stairs. Jones tapped Neal on the shoulder as he passed and pointed. Neal turned to see Peter standing at the rail, watching as they all filed up to the conference room, wearing what Peter would later find out they all referred to as his "unhappy face."

Neal saw it, registering the unhappiness and feeling a swift surge of relief that it wasn't for him. _It __**wasn't**__ for him, was it_? He pointed to his chest—Me, too?—and Peter nodded. Delight spread over his features, and he scrambled after the others, stopping to grab a notepad. Peter sighed. It was going to be an interesting meeting.

They brainstormed pretty heavily, plotting, strategizing, comparing what they knew to what they _didn't_ know, to what they _might_ know, but in the end it was Neal who provided the key to the whole puzzle. They had all stared at him, expressions ranging from surprise to distrust to outright disbelief, but he had been right about the egotism of their suspect. _Figures_, Peter thought. Almost unconsciously, Neal was holding court, showing his discovery to the others as they crowded around. Peter looked at him, exasperated for reasons he couldn't quite name, and started to order him to get his feet off the table—

Peter's eyes widened in surprise, though there was no one looking at him to see it. Neal's shoes, while very natty to behold, were scuffed and thin-soled to the point of decrepitude. Somehow, the sight of those wildly expensive shoes rather short of shoe-leather on the bottom made Peter's irritation drain away, his expression soften. Neal might have managed to come to work _looking_ like a dandy, but it was still smoke and mirrors—hand-me-over clothes and thin-soled shoes. Heck, the guy didn't even have a decent haircut. It made Peter feel oddly protective, and _that_ made him stiffen in surprise.

Did he _need_ this now? This headache? This con man? No. Not at all. But did this con man need _him_—his guidance, his steadying influence? Most certainly. The thought made Peter proud—and wary. He believed in doing the right thing, believed in doing good. As if sensing himself the focus of Peter's thoughts, Neal looked up, his expression somewhere between unrepentant and uncertain. Everyone was looking to Neal for guidance, but Neal was looking to Peter. _Which was as it should be._

_Okay_, Peter thought. He'd take that. _It was a good start_.


End file.
